


Let Me Climb Under Your Skin

by locketofyourhair



Series: I'll Keep You Warm at Night [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Demon Shane Madej, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Succubi & Incubi, brief description of gross fractures, sexy healing, some urban fantasy elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 21:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locketofyourhair/pseuds/locketofyourhair
Summary: He knows Ryan wouldn’t be able to live with himself after. He’d see Shane’s glowing eyes, filled with a soft brown light the same as his “human” irises, and know that demons were capture-on-camera real, and it would ruin their friendship.It’s definitely better that way.Until, of course, fate pushes the issue.





	Let Me Climb Under Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this fandom as well as proof 2018 couldn't keep me from posting a fic! Beta'ed by riversburns and signaturist for the beta reading and typo picking. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> I just love supernatural!Shane so much, and we could always use more incubus fic, amirite? Shane's powers are heavily influenced by more modern fantasy and less fire and brimstone. 
> 
> Title from "New Heights" by Alison Sudol. The haunting is fake.

There are a lot of great things about _Unsolved_ , mostly involving giving Ryan shit for his crazy theories and getting to see a lot more of historical America than he thought he would. He likes traveling from place to place, hearing about the Borden murders or walking the same streets as Jack the Ripper. It’s enough to make his heart sing, and that’s not easy to do. Strictly speaking, he’s not sure he has a heart in the human sense of the word.

Sure, technically, he has a heart, because he’s an incubus and part of what’s made his kind pass for human in this increasingly small world is their biology mostly aping that of a human for procreative purposes. Most incubi and succubi were born of one mortal, like Shane’s father. 

He’s met so-called “pure-blood” sex demons. Almost all of them have personalities that make it impossible for them to get laid without releasing pheromones to kick off orgy-levels. That sort of thing went out of vogue by the time the Black Plague rolled around. 

(Though now Shane’s pretty sure ol’ Ben Franklin had at least one pure-blood incubus in his secret society now that he’s read up.)

But Shane isn’t like that. Instead he’s a regular sex demon that can’t really cloud minds (never wanted to learn) or do much to change his shape (not his skill set, though his brother is pretty good at looking like John Cusack), but he can heal with his touch and sneak in and out of rooms through shadows. That’s a more useful skill when he goes on location with a film crew and needs to feed. Or just when he feels like fucking with his human best friend. 

Ryan thinks it’s just Shane being quiet and sneaky, because his understanding of the demon world is shallow and heavily influenced by his Catholic upbringing. He doesn’t understand that there are different sorts of demons, different levels of “evil,” from the banal crossroads guys to the sex demons to the truly horrifying assholes that make everyone else look bad. 

Shane doesn’t really want to change that misunderstanding. He likes following Ryan around “haunted” prisons that don’t have a lick of real activity and staying in a Best Western that has the shade of a man who died there. 

The overnights are terrible, when he and Ryan are laying on a cold floor and Ryan smells overwhelmingly of fear and adrenaline. He can’t sleep like that, and that means Shane won’t sleep either, even though he’s terribly aware that it would be all too easy to take those emotions and tip them into something more, something easier. Then they could both sleep, particularly when it’s been a week on the road and Shane hasn’t been able to slip away to feed. 

Except that he knows Ryan wouldn’t be able to live with himself after. He’d see Shane’s glowing eyes, filled with a soft brown light the same as his “human” irises, and know that demons were capture-on-camera real, and it would ruin their friendship. 

It’s definitely better that way. 

Until, of course, fate pushes the issue.

* * *

The house feels off from the moment they enter, and Shane can see the dark energy of another demon - the sort that likes to punish humans rather fuck them - lurking by Ryan. There isn’t much Shane can to do call it off, even as Ryan starts to sweat and shake because the demon wants him afraid.

In some ways, Shane is glad that it’s a demon that can’t hide from him. It means it’s weaker, that it can’t do much besides feed on Ryan’s fear. Whatever lives in the Sallie House is old enough, evil enough, that Shane didn’t sense anything until Ryan woke him up and insisted they leave. 

The thought of that demon’s anger that Ryan was leaving still unsettled him. 

“Dude, you hear that?” Ryan asks, and his eyes are huge with delight and also fear. There is a creaking above their heads, and Shane knows it isn’t the demon because it’s right beside Ryan, almost gloating. 

“This house is like 150 years old, Ryan,” Shane says, and he rolls his eyes for the camera. “Old houses make noise.”

Ryan grins. “People say they can hear fingernails on the floorboards. I don’t know, Shane. That’s sounds an awful lot like—“

“Creaking. It sounds like creaking.” Shane steps into the next room, and the floor creaks beneath his weight. “Like so.”

The demon flares hungrily at Ryan, and Shane can’t hear it, not while he’s holding onto appearing human, but it’s impossible not to see it. He steps on the floor again and the wood screeches. “Well, that’s just rude,” he says, and he stares at the black shape as he says it. 

“Too many sugar in your tea, big guy,” Ryan says cheerfully, but his eyes are still too big and the fear coming off of him is so strong that Shane can taste it. 

And Shane - stupidly, amateurishly - forgot to feed before they left LA. He meant to, but he wanted to get the topics for _Ruining History_ shored up and submitted before they left and then there was traffic... It wasn’t a big deal and still isn’t, except that Ryan’s fear literally turns his stomach, like he’s forcing himself to eat rotten eggs. 

So he does what he shouldn’t, what he knows is going to annoy TJ and piss off the demon and make Ryan look at him strange. He steps into that black shape so it has to shift back, scurry away. There’s no soul home inside of Shane, and he isn’t afraid. If he’s anything, he’s pissed. 

“Okay,” TJ says and he pulls his camera down. He looks more than a little unhappy, but Shane thinks that the demon hovering around them is maybe a little to blame. “I guess I’ll get some B-roll. You guys decide where you want to get the lock-in footage so we can get that set up.”

Devon and Matt are outside with the site coordinator, which is good because Ryan is starting to get keyed up before the damned spirit box goes on. Shane can see that his own camera is flickering, can practically feel the blob pressing at him to try and get a rise out of him. 

Ryan is vibrating beside him, holding up one arm where the hair is already standing up. “This place sucks,” he murmurs. “This doesn’t feel like a murdered housewife.”

This had been some story about how this house was a tenant home during the depression, one of thousand sad stories where a family trying to keep their home rented out every bit of space they could find to strangers. Apparently there had been a bad apple and an accident. 

In the office set, Shane had gotten Ryan wheezing with “You mean...ax-ccidents?” Because of course it was an axe. It was always a damned hatchet or an axe, like only that weapon could make human spirits linger. 

Now, in the house, there is no sense of the human woman. He only sees the demon, and Ryan seems to understand the mistake all too late. 

“I should have brought holy water,” he mumbles, and now he’s sweeping his camera around the historically preserved room. 

“Nah, this is nothing. Just ambiance. Come for the frontier atmosphere, stay for the murder.” He throws an arm around Ryan’s shoulder, both because it will startle Ryan out of the burgeoning panic (he’s already done one demon episode this season, in Pittsburgh, and Shane has the multitude of late night texts to prove that it didn’t go over well) and because it’s a subtle way to tell the other demon _this is mine; you will not feed from him._

He lets Ryan shrug out from under his arm, and there’s just the start of a grin on his face. “They said we could do our lock-in down in the root cellar.” He says “root” the way the caretaker did, so it rhymes with “put” rather than “boot.”

“Fuck that,” Ryan says, but he heads for the northeast corner of the little cabin. There’s a roped off section of the floor for the general people giving a lookie-loo, but in-depth tours are allowed down into what the poor dead housewife used to store her veggies. 

The demon follows and Shane can feel its anger like a furnace at his back, and Ryan’s temperature gauge whistles because the room is colder. Shane wishes they were doing the lock-in now, so he could casually appear to ask why the house was so pissed off. Like what difference does it make that Ryan isn’t shit-his-pants terrified yet. 

He’ll get there. 

Hell, the sound he makes when he opens the root cellar door is half-way to terror town. “Shit, there is no fucking way,” he groans. 

Shane looks at the dubiously small opening and feels the same way. There’s a ladder leading down into what looks like a dark sea. He can’t see the bottom, but that’s probably the angle. He doesn’t like it at all, because when you’re roughly a mile tall, it’s normal to feel uncomfortable in cramped spaces. 

“You’re gonna have to go down first,” Ryan says, and he’s whispering, eyes huge. “I don’t know if I...” He trails off and motions to his person, his shoulders, everything. 

“Are you too swole?” Shane asks, blinking at Ryan. “Do you think the ghost is looking at your pectorals and thinking ‘I’ll bisect him with this literal hole in the floor.’”

Ryan just keeps staring at him, as if they aren’t staring into a literal hole in the ground that probably has a ceiling low enough that Ryan won’t be able to stand. “Shane,” he says slowly, and there’s real fear in his voice. 

The demon flares in his mind’s eye, and Shane gets it. “She was found down there,” he says, because asking it would be stupid. The answer is plain as day on Ryan’s face. 

“Yep.” 

“And that’s where people see her?”

“Yep.”

Shane takes off his bag and sets it on the ground. “You’re going to have to pay my chiropractor when I try to stand up in a four foot high room,” he declares, and he knows it’s stupid. He could distract Ryan and slide into the shadows without taking the alarmingly rickety ladder. 

Instead, he goes down into the deep dark like a human, head lamp on for extra dorky fun. The hole isn’t as narrow as it looks, once you’re past the first section of the ladder, but that’s hardly comforting. 

His feet hit the ground and it is too small for him to stand, but not as bad as he thought. He only has to hunch a little rather than kneel. “They store the wine down there for the boozy haunted tour, so it can’t be that short,” Ryan calls down. 

Shane shuffles back, turning off his light as he goes. He can seen in the dark better without it, and true to Ryan’s word, there are a few fancy wine racks pushed against the wall. A yard or so in, the floor dips down and Shane can stand straight - almost - with his hair brushing dirt off the ceiling. 

“Oh, you’re going to hate being down here alone.” Shane shouts. “So many ghosties will be after you.”

“Fuck off,” Ryan says, but Shane can hear the smile in his voice. 

There’s a spot on the floor that’s roped off, and that’s really just morbid. He’s pretty sure the staining on the floor is from dye rather than a woman who died over 100 years ago. He doesn’t smell blood, at any rate. He doesn’t smell much except the wood of the wine racks and dirt, but he feels the pulse of the demon - as if he were the sort of supernatural creature that could just tear open a vein and drink someone down - as Ryan starts down the ladder. 

“You think we could do a summoning down here?” Shane asks, casual like he doesn’t feel the demon’s pulse at his skin. It is furious, and Shane wants to ask why, to pull it aside and just tell it to cool off. Ryan is going to be plenty scared for a good meal, and it doesn’t need to push this so hard. 

But he doesn’t get the chance, because the demon pulses one more time and Shane’s skin feels like it’s about to burn from his body. There’s a sick cracking, like the breaking of bones, and Shane doesn’t understand what he’s hearing for a moment. 

Then Ryan yells, “Shit, Shane—“ And Shane watches in the dim light as Ryan falls straight down into his legs, hears that awful crunch for real. He smells blood as he rushes forward, crouched and nearly on all fours. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ryan is panting, and his eyes are huge with shock. “Shane, something pushed me.”

Shane doesn’t bother disagreeing. He’s too busy staring at Ryan’s left leg and the spread of blood under the denim. He can’t see the break, but it has to be bad for Ryan to be bleeding. 

Ryan gropes for the camera he dropped to shine the light up at the rungs of the ladder. They’re all snapped, even the ones that Ryan hadn’t tried to climb down. “Fuck, look at this,” he murmurs. 

He’s terrified and in shock and doesn’t know his own pain yet. Shane can feel the demon gloating and gorging itself on Ryan’s panic. He puts his hand gently to the bloody patch on Ryan’s jeans. 

“Ryan, I need you to breathe,” he murmurs, and he keeps his face calm, gentle. 

“How will we get back up there?” Ryan is already looking forward. “Shit, something broke the ladder. We can’t be down here.” Ryan is freaked to hell, and Shane knows that he’s just barely hanging onto his emotions. 

It’s a bad idea. Shane didn’t feed before he left, and he can’t spare the energy to heal Ryan. But he doesn’t know how long TJ wants to shoot exterior or how long it will take to get help. Once the shock wears off, Ryan is going to be in so much pain that Shane knows the demon will be excited, happy with what it’s done. 

And that is the worst. It’s one thing to feed on Ryan’s fear when he’s always terrified and jumpy; it’s another thing to hurt him. 

“We’ll be okay. I just need you to trust me, okay? I’ll get us out of here. You’re gonna be okay.” He tries to push just a hint of power in the words, the promise of comfort. 

“How?” Then Shane can see the exact moment that Ryan feels the pain, when he looks down in the light of his camera and sees blood. “Oh, fuck.”

Shane concentrates for a moment, fighting to hide himself while also releasing just the softest edge of his power, a hint of pheromones and the lightest touch of his other hand to Ryan’s face. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, and he can’t see Ryan’s fear yet, but he can nearly touch it. 

“Shane...” Ryan murmurs. His skin is cool under Shane’s fingertips. He’s so afraid. “I can’t climb up.”

“Just trust me, okay.” Shane strokes his thumb along Ryan’s cheek, and under the pain, there are questions. Shane doesn’t have time to answer. “Let me help you.”

Ryan blinks, and Shane can tell that his power is already influencing him, in the lazy way he looks at Shane. “What are you doing?”

Shane smiles, and he leans close. “Just trust me and close your eyes. It’ll be all right.” 

And because Ryan doesn’t know that Shane is just as otherworldly as the demon in the room, because he thinks Shane is just his human friend, he does it. 

“This is going to be weird, but it will work,” he whispers. Then Shane blinks and calls his power to him, lets his eyes bleed the soft brown of his eyes, already glowing as he pushes lust into Ryan. He can’t heal without touch, but it still feels wrong to do that, to make Ryan want Shane for this moment. 

He slots their months together as he uses just a hint of otherworldly strength to tear open Ryan’s jeans at the break. He can feel exposed bone under his hands now, and Ryan bites down hard on Shane’s lip, hard enough that Shane can taste blood. 

He can feel Ryan starting to pull back at that, and Shane can’t have that. Right now, his hand glows with power, with the same bright light that fills his eyes. Instead, he moves his free hand so it cups the back of Ryan’s head and opens his mouth with a groan. 

The pain feels good to Shane. There are a million wild things about being an incubus, but Shane thinks his own enjoyment of rough and bitey sex is just him, just who he is. And now, with Ryan chasing Shane’s tongue with his own, with Ryan’s adrenaline riding high and his fear turned over into something Shane can work with? 

It’s almost perfect. 

The break is low on Ryan’s leg, too low for Shane to accidentally brush over Ryan’s dick, and he’s grateful. Healing Ryan like this, turning his fear to lust, is crossing a line that Shane promised himself he wouldn’t even touch. It’s worth it, if they can get out of this cellar. 

It’s worth it to be good and not thrust into Ryan’s hand when he reaches down and squeezes Shane’s cock through his jeans. It would be so easy to open the part of him that feeds on lust and sex, like unfurling a fist or breathing in. 

Without the fear, Shane can taste the edge of Ryan’s want, and it’s both sweet and savory on his tongue, like even here he knows that Ryan would be a meal rather than the small feedings Shane allows himself. Shane could chase his lust down and let it overwhelm him, and Ryan would be fine in the morning. 

It’s a freedom he never allows himself with humans, and it would be intoxicating if he could just let himself have it. Which is why he has to be good. Why he can’t beg Ryan to touch him. 

But with every moment, Shane can feel himself weakening, like his own life is being stripped out as he pushes energy into Ryan. He breaks the kiss to nip along Ryan’s jaw, his lips brushing over stubble. It’s weakness to keep touching Ryan, when he can feel that Ryan’s leg is whole and healed under his hand. 

Instead, he stops healing and makes himself curl one hand around Ryan’s hip. He need to maintain control, to let Ryan come back to himself. He will not crawl into his coworker’s lap when his hand is sticky with Ryan’s blood and the demon is still there, gnashing impotently at the unfairness of his “sort” of trouble. 

Shane snickers as he presses a kiss to Ryan’s pulse point. _Impotent_. 

“Shane, god, wait,” and now Ryan’s hands are in his hair, but he’s not pulling him away as much as he is dragging Shane’s mouth back to his own. His fingers are tight enough in Shane’s hair that Shane can almost - almost - give himself over to the pressing need he feels in his own chest. 

Shane can’t help the whine that builds in his throat, because he wants. He feels weak, drained, and it only occurs to him what he might look like to a normal human when Ryan bites lightly at his lips again before pulling back. 

And fear stabs through Shane, cutting through the heady mix of their arousal, and Ryan pushes Shane back as he jumps to his feet. He, of course, can stand in this little space. He can back away from Shane, murmuring, “Fuck, fuck,” under his breath. 

Shane blinks languidly, because terror or not, he put a lot of energy into Ryan, and he’s exhausted. He can see the demon now - and of course, it’s just the murdered housewife whose rage and horror over her demise have twisted her into a thing that hurts humans for kicks and a meal - which means that he doesn’t, well, pass. 

It’s not that he looks too much different, just a sheen to his skin, which Ryan probably wouldn’t see if the room wasn’t as dark as it is, and his eyes. Which of course Ryan can see the eyes. The eyes are absolutely the worst. 

Ryan is digging in his pocket, and Shane puts up a hand. “Rosary isn’t going to do much against me, Ry. Not that kind of demon.”

Shane didn’t know that Ryan’s eyes could actually get bigger than they are, but apparently he’s wrong. “Shit, I didn’t bring holy wa—“

“Not that kind of demon, either,” Shane murmurs, and he tries to think of the best way to describe what he is without making it sound creepy. Some people are weird about the fact that they were feeling up a sex demon; Shane dated a faerie once who was pissed he didn’t disclose his flavor of supernatural until after they’d been making out. 

So he sticks out his hands to show that he’s unarmed, unclawed, whatever. “Ryan, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not—“

“Oh, fuck, did you take my soul? Is that why we were—did we make a deal?” Ryan’s voice is growing both pitch and volume, and it’s only a matter of time before Teej and the others come back. 

Shane would really like to not have to out himself as an incubus to _all_ of his coworkers. That’s the kind of shit other supernatural creatures get pissy about, like real demons who were never born or created and just crawled out of the Underworld to piss in everyone’s Cheerios. 

He might be hard to kill, but he’s not “throw down with primordial evil” hard to kill. 

“Hey, your soul is safe. I’m barely even a demon, really, just sort of a clerical thing—“

Ryan blinks, and Shane can feel his fear pivot to anger. “Are you possessing Shane? How long have you been in—“

“I _am_ Shane. I’ve been Shane for all 32 years I’ve been alive, and eventually I’ll die and I’ll still be Shane. I just won’t go to heaven or whatever.” Shane still isn’t sure how all that works. It’s a little above his pay grade, and for all the supernatural spooks and ghouls he’s seen in his life, he’s never seen an angel. 

Ryan lets out a long shaking breath, pinching hard at the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he says, and it’s not for Shane. He’s psyching himself up for more questions, and Shane can’t handle more questions, not when they need to not be talking where others can hear. 

“Look, it’s just. I’m not exactly human. I’ve never been human. Yes, I’m a demon, but I’m more of the... make you feel good and maybe drain the life out of you. I mean, hypothetically.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve never actually done that. Seems like a real easy way of being discovered.”

“Not. Helping,” Ryan grits out. And then his blinks. “Wait, I’ve met your parents, when they came to visit last summer. They’re human.”

“Dad’s human,” Shane corrects. “Mom and Scott are like me. Well, I guess Scott and I are like her, technically.” 

“She invited me to visit, next time you go,” Ryan says, voice trembling. “What was she going—was she going to sacrifice me?”

Ryan’s voice squeaks, and he seems so sincere that Shane can’t help himself. He bursts out into laughter, trying to imagine any situation that would lead to his mother feeding on Ryan. It’s too strange. 

“Ryan, no. You’re too young for her,” he says, and he steps closer now, hands still outstretched. “Not to mention that my mother is a happily committed succubus.”

That draws Ryan up short, and his fear drops immediately. He looks nearly betrayed by the news. “Your mother offered to make me breakfast. She can’t be a sex demon.”

Shane shrugs one shoulder. “She’s still a _mom_ , Ry. Scott and I were born, and she married my dad and made us pancakes on Saturdays.” He rubs his neck again. “It’s just a...family quirk. Like being tall. Or brown eyes.”

Ryan laughs, and it’s almost normal. “Right. Just like brown eyes.” He rubs at his eyes. “So you healed me. With sex magic.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s sort of all I have. I can’t call on the four corners or some big guy upstairs. I’m sort of limited.” He looks over at the remnants of the ladder. “I can explain more later, but we should probably call TJ. Get out of the cellar.”

Ryan purses his lip, and Shane can see him trying to work through it, trying to adjust and push forward. He has to hand it to Ryan. For all he obsesses and pushes and questions, he’s remarkably able to keep going when he has to. Like this isn’t the end, but he can accept that Shane wants to keep this on the DL. 

“Did you feed on me? Do you, I mean?” Ryan asks, face serious. 

Shane shakes his head. “Consent is sexy. I mean, I do feed on sexy partners, but the...” He waves his hand where they were sitting, where he was almost in Ryan’s lap. “I need a little sex energy to heal, and you were too scared.” 

He runs a hand through his hair. “I usually just go dancing, you know. I don’t need a lot of energy to keep me going, and I can feed at a club because everyone wants someone else in their pants. And I have a few friends that aren’t quite human, like me. They don’t get as weird about it. To really feed on a human, I’d have to out myself.”

Ryan opens his mouth to ask another question, but then TJ is yelling into the opening, “What the hell happened?” And it’s quickly forgotten.

* * *

They manage to get some filming done in the dark, and the caretaker practically trips over herself to apologize for the ladder breaking. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so weak,” she says, and neither of them correct her. Shane vetoes sleeping over, and Ryan doesn’t argue, not with his jeans bloody and ripped open. (TJ looks at them but doesn’t ask; no one offers an explanation.)

Ryan gets some decent EVP, and while they don’t film a lock-in down in the root cellar, Ryan comes out of the old bedroom looking plenty terrified. The spirit box picks up on nonsense, and Shane is sure that they can make a good episode with what they have, not that he’s much help. 

He feels unmoored and exhausted by the time they start shooting, worse as they go from room to room. It’s easy to tell the ghost to fuck off, but he doesn’t have any energy to make it fun. More than once, he’s swaying on his feet, only for Ryan to grab his arm.

* * *

TJ, Mark, and Devon take most of the camera equipment in their car, which is just fine. Shane’s head is pounding and he doesn’t actually have to hide it from Ryan. Ryan gets it. 

“So like...is this a tall drink of water thing?” Ryan is looking at him as he follows TJ. “Because I really can’t think of why you’re so tall, if you’re supposed to be designed for fucking. No one needs to be that tall.”

Shane closes his eyes and takes off his glasses. “My dad is tall. And human. And it takes all kinds, Ryan. What one person finds sexy isn’t the next person’s cup of tea.” He yawns, jaw cracking. “Lots of women like tall guys.”

Ryan hums. “So just women or...because uh... you seemed into it.”

He smiles, snorting softly. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the way Ryan is looking at him. “Some of us are gender selective, but I do like to eat.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Some men like tall guys. Or like to shove big guys around. I’m flexible.”

There’s a long silence, and then Ryan sighs. “So that house. Demon?”

“Not in a Father-Thomas-never-human-way demon. It’s a spirit who has learned to eat fear, and it makes her a demon, pretty much. We’re a diverse and accepting group.” He opens his eyes and looks at Ryan, who really shouldn’t be driving if he keeps looking at Shane so much. “Much more accepting than you’d think anyway.”

“But there _are_ real, never-human-demons?” Ryan pulls into the hotel lot, parking. They’re already checked in, so they just have to get into their room but it feels so far. The rental car is already warm and comfortable. 

“Yeah, there are. And they’re assholes.” He sighs, and it would be so easy to sleep here. He can’t keep his eyes open. “Like... demons can beget more demons, and some of them are super obsessed with pedigree.”

Ryan laughs. “Like Harry Potter pureblood bullshit?”

“Like dog breeders and Lord Voldemort mixed into one and actually hellfire evil to boot.” He makes a vague gesture to himself. “I’m weird looking. I get that. ‘Pure’ sex demons are hot like Mexico and can basically turn a club into a crazy orgy. But they are _assholes_ because they don’t actually talk to humans.”

“Can you do that? Make everyone all sex-crazy?”

“Nah.” Shane smiles to himself. “One, consent is still sexy and people can’t say yes when you’ve fucked their minds with a hormone wammy.” He yawns again. “Two, I get by without having to go all spooky. It helps not to be a jerk.”

“I didn’t realize that you were...going out so much,” Ryan says, voice quiet, and Shane can feel the embarrassment radiating off him. 

“I do okay.” Shane scratches his nose. “It’s not like in the movies where it’s every night, and - well - I pick up people who are like me—“

“More demons?” Ryan’s voice goes high, squeaky in his sudden horror. 

“No, not _more_.” Shane cracks an eye open. “Just not...all human, like part something ancient and not-quite-mortal. The feed lasts longer, my powers aren’t a secret, and we both go home happy.” He leans his forehead against the cool glass and tries to concentrate, tries to anticipate Ryan’s next question but he’s got nothing besides: “I don’t really go for non-corporeal evil, you know.”

“Right.” Ryan taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “What about Sallie House?” 

Shane isn’t surprised. It’s almost always about Sallie House when they talk about spooky, scary demons. He imagines that ten, twenty years from now, when they’ve moved on from Buzzfeed and Ryan’s got a family and dogs, he’ll still want to talk about the Sallie House and how evil it is. 

“Hellfire plus an actual pissed as fuck spirit. It’s a bad combo.” Shane cracks an eye to grin at Ryan. “That one was way angrier about me than you. I’m a dirty half-human. You’re a tasty treat that just walked in.”

Ryan goes quiet again, and Shane means to stay awake. He really does, because he knows that this is a lot to take in and he doesn’t want Ryan scouring Wikipedia for answers about incubi. 

But the heater has the car at just the right warmth and he’s so exhausted. His eyelids close and that’s it, he’s lost. He’s asleep and dreamless, only vaguely aware of the sex dream someone in the hotel is having because he’s too tired to shield himself from that. 

It’s only Ryan peering in at him, when the car door on his side is open and the whole car feels cold, that he starts awake. Ryan’s eyes are soft in the dome light, concerned. “I thought demons were stronger than this,” he murmurs, and Shane doesn’t realize what’s going on, head muzzy with a memory of a stranger’s skin. 

And then Ryan is hauling him out of the seat, his belt undone with an arm around Ryan’s neck. “Come on, big guy. Bedtime.”

“We’re stronger than you think. I’m just a little drained.” He finds his footing gradually, like he’s actually drunk, but Ryan keeps helping him walk, like he can’t trust Shane to walk on his own anymore. It’s nice, and he can admit that it’s probably his hunger than leads him to tuck his head against Ryan’s neck as they enter the motel room. 

And Ryan holds him a moment longer than necessary, until they’re in the room and Ryan’s got the door locked and bolted. 

Only then does Shane stagger away, not bothering with his boots or coat before he’s flopping down on the bed, knocking his overnight bag onto the floor. He’s not surprised that he feels terrible, considering how long it's been since he fed and the amount of healing he had to do to get Ryan walking again. 

He falls asleep without realizing it, because the next thing he knows is Ryan sitting on the bed beside him, dressed in flannel pajama pants and smelling like cheap shampoo. 

“You know, I thought being a demon would make you more...powerful than this,” he says, almost casual. “Or is this just a succubus thing.”

Shane pillows his head on his arms. “I didn’t get a feed in before I left LA. Meant to, but things happen.” He smiles, small and soft. “And it usually doesn’t matter much. A few days delay here or there isn’t going to kill me.”

Ryan nods. He has his phone out, appearing to scroll through something or other, but Shane knows he’s staring at nothing, thinking so hard that Shane can almost hear it. 

“You were falling asleep on camera,” Ryan says, as if Shane could forget. “If we had another day of shooting, you’d be a mess.”

“Nah, just a good night’s sleep and maybe a big breakfast. Then I’ll hook up with someone when I get home.” Shane keeps his tone casual, winking at Ryan. “Easy peasy. And I’ll remember to feed ahead of leaving LA next time, and you won’t get pushed off a ladder.”

Ryan is quiet again, still staring ahead. “Or,” he says, then he sets his phone down. 

Shane sits up, suddenly totally awake.“Or nothing.” He knows what Ryan is hinting at, because Shane hasn’t forgotten the feel of Ryan’s mouth opening against his. He’s only a little embarrassed that it just occurred to him now, that Ryan would...want to try it. At least, once he’d decided that Shane wasn’t after his immortal soul. 

Just his dick, apparently. 

“You don’t know how it will affect you.”

“Shane, I feel awesome. I feel like could do a hundred lifts right now.” Ryan turns to sit on the bed so they’re facing each other. “What if you aren’t okay in the morning? You know Teej noticed.”

“Then I say I’m getting sick or I hit my head.” Shane taps his fingers against his knees. “We did fall down the rabbit hole this afternoon, Alice.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying that, you know, you’ve got a meal right here. And I’m offering for you to, you know, do your thing.”

Shane frowns, looking at Ryan’s face. There’s a hint of mischief in his eyes, but he knows what Ryan looks like when he finds a new “spooky” topic to research. He knows what Ryan looks like on the cusp of a Wikipedia shame spiral. And it’s only a little unnerving to have that focused on him, like Ryan wants a ride just to see exactly what it means that Shane is a sex demon. 

And Shane is maybe too drained to box that away for when they’re home, when there is food and Gatorade and Ryan’s own bed if it’s too much for him. It would be the responsible thing to do, to push Ryan off his bed and be very circumspect. Shane could point out that he's not exactly going anywhere—they work together, for fuck's sake—so if Ryan wants a ride on a sex demon... well, there’s just no reason to rush. 

Except Shane is starving. And Ryan looks delicious with shower damp hair and a white t-shirt that clings to his chest, where he didn’t completely dry off. 

Shane rolls back on the bed, covers his eyes, and tries to be responsible. “This is a bad idea. If you really want to investigate sex demons, we can do that at home.”

Ryan snorts and suddenly he’s on Shane, his thighs bracketing Shane’s hips, one hand curling around the side of Shane’s neck and his thumb against his Adam’s apple. Shane’s throat catches on the feelings Ryan is projecting, the sheer _want_ now that he has Shane exactly where he wants him. His hands are gentle, and Shane could break away in a moment if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t want to. 

“Don’t make me wait,” he whispers, leaning down so his words warm Shane’s lips. 

And Shane stops resisting. 

He leans up and kisses Ryan, really kisses him, in a way that is all him and has nothing to do with his powers. Ryan’s hand presses a little firmer against his throat, and they haven’t talked at all - not about what either of them likes, about what this will be like, about of this will change anything - and Shane whines low in his throat. 

This drained, Shane’s easy. His hands ruck Ryan’s shirt up around his ribs so Shane can touch as much as he wants. Ryan’s skin is hot under his touch, and Shane is having trouble controlling himself already. He’s hard, straining in the jeans that are still a little stained with Ryan’s blood. 

Ryan’s other hand is between them, undoing Shane’s fly and reaching in to feel him through the fabric of his boxers. “Already?” He bites Shane’s bottom lip as he pulls back, grinning like he’s managed to do something special. 

Shane bucks into Ryan’s hand shamelessly. Discretion is stupid and for mortals. “Sex demons aren’t really known for their chill, Bergara.” To the raised eyebrow Ryan gives him, because Shane is chill about almost everything, he wheezes a laugh. 

“Well, we aren’t known to be chill about sex. The rest of it...” He taps a few times on Ryan’s stomach. “I mean, it’s sort of the package deal. Sex and all that comes with it: serious fucking business. Anything that isn’t sex: eh, maybe later.”

Ryan snorts. “So it's all serious fucking?” Like he doesn’t have his hand around Shane through the fabric of his shorts. 

Shane bucks into his hand, panting. “Depends on how serious you want it, baby.”

What he means is it doesn’t matter. He can come like from this now, and he can go down on Ryan and in the moment Ryan comes, he can feed. He’ll probably come again, overwhelmed from the feel of Ryan on his tongue and maybe pulling his hair, because refractory periods are a joke, even for demons in their thirties. He means it as a joke. 

What he gets is Ryan pulling back and searching his face. “Holy shit, really?”

Shane raises his eyebrows and sits up, balancing himself on his elbows. “What exactly are you asking here, Ry?”

Ryan licks his lips, once, twice, and his fingers are curled around Shane’s thighs. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess... it would be cool to have the whole experience. It’s not every day you get to fuck a sex demon.”

“Oh, well, if you think it will be _cool_ ,” Shane snarks, but he can honestly accept that, especially from a human like Ryan. He accepts it enough to pull off his shirt and then shift enough that Ryan slips off his lap and to the side. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. It’s...lust and orgasms, what I need.” 

He tugs at Ryan’s shirt a little more, and Ryan obliges him, pulling it up over his head. Shane swallows, reaching out to touch the lines of Ryan’s chest. He’s holding himself too carefully, he knows, but he needs to feel that Ryan wants this before he opens his powers. It’s only polite. 

It’s only polite to try and kick his ghoul-hunting boots off as Ryan fumbles with Shane’s belt and jeans (“I can’t believe you didn’t take those off before, _Jesus_ , are all demons raised in a barn?”) Their kissing is sloppy, unhurried in a way that is driving Shane crazy, but he wants Ryan to drive this for as long as he can. 

“Just—you have too many layers,” Ryan says, pulling back with a disgusted look. “Can’t you phase out of them?”

Shane laughs until he’s wheezing. “Not that kind of demon or spirit or whatever. I’m wearing these clothes, not...possessing them.”

Ryan’s eyes narrow just a little as Shane takes off his jacket and shirt, then his boots and socks. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten, by the way.”

“Forgotten what?”

“That you exist and admitted other demons exist,” and the way Ryan’s face splits into a grin is both hot as hell and infuriating, “which means _ghosts are real_ , baby.”

Shane rolls his eyes but shrugs. “Too bad your only evidence can’t be shared. No footage of these babies.” He lets his eyes flick to wholly brown, dark and fathomless. “And half those places are haunted by capitalism, because humans love a good story.”

Ryan shrugs. “Still. I’m right. You were a lying liar who lies, and I’m going to have so many questions.” He watches Shane slide out of his jeans, until he’s just in his boxer briefs. “But later.”

Somewhere along the line, when Shane was working on removing his layers and boots, Ryan slipped out of his pajama pants. If he was wearing underwear, they’re gone now, and Shane can feel his power just under the surface of his skin, the faintest sheen of need because Ryan is half-hard but already beautiful with his thighs firm and the hollows of his hip bones. 

He catches Shane looking, rolling his hips in a way that would normally be ridiculous because he’s still Ryan Steve Bergara and not Channing Tatum. But the sight of him makes Shane swallow hard, like he’s trying to force his ears to pop. 

“See something you like?” Ryan asks as he hops back onto Shane, and now he rolls his hips with absolute intent. He holds Shane’s hips close so he can feel when Ryan goes from half-mast to full hardness, and Shane can almost taste him. 

He forces himself to be calm, to hold himself absolutely still as he asks, “I’m hungry enough - once I start feeding, I don’t know if I can stop - mean, if you don’t like it.”

His heart is pounding and now Ryan is still, considering. His fingers trace the length of Shane’s arms, thumbs pressing into the softest parts of his wrists. “I think I could take you,” he says, and finally - _fucking finally_ \- he looks serious. 

Shane licks his lips, and he can taste Ryan already, wants so much in a way that is almost alien, almost concerning. It’s been so long since he’s had a human partner, since before college. He’s grown more powerful since then, and suddenly he’s aware that it is technically possible to fuck a human to death. 

Not in one night, not with breaks, but it makes Ryan seem fragile in a way that his other partners aren’t. 

“Maybe—how comfortable are you being in control of this?” Shane doesn’t know how much control Ryan can have, not really, once he lets go. But he can feel Ryan’s cock hot against his, despite the fabric of his boxers, and he wants it. He wants to feel the heat of Ryan in his mouth, the press of him against his skin. He can tell Ryan isn’t as long as he is, but there’s a promise of width and Shane could definitely throw down with Ryan fucking him. 

And the minute he thinks it, he wants it. Wants it enough to rear up in Ryan’s grasp and kiss him biting fierce. “Do you want to fuck me, Ry?” he murmurs against Ryan’s mouth. 

And Ryan’s breath stutters out. “Yeah,” he whispers back, like someone else is listening in. “Yeah we could do that.”

* * *

Shane loses control with Ryan fucking his face, fingers tight in his hair and two of his own fingers pushing deep into his body, between his spread legs where he’s kneeling beside the bed. He listens to Ryan’s commentary, the way he’s stroking one thumb against where Shane’s lips are stretched wide over his cock.

“Fuck, you just take it,” Ryan whispers, and it’s so hushed, so reverent, that when Shane rolls his eyes up to look at Ryan’s face, he can’t handle it. It’s easier to unfurl his power than to respond to the look in Ryan’s eyes, the reverence and emotion. 

His skin glows, and the glow spreads, pulsing into Ryan’s skin so they both light up the room. He can feel Ryan under his skin even as he pulls off Ryan’s cock. He gracelessly crawls back onto the bed beside Ryan, kissing him because he hates the break of contact. Like this, he wants to touch, to feel

“Fuck,” Ryan whispers, and there’s a darkness to his voice, a raw need, and Shane lets himself be pushed down, onto his back before Ryan is pulling his hips up. He knows the power is overriding Ryan’s sense, the reality of the condom on the bed beside them, and Shane doesn’t have the words to tell him to stop or to assure him that it’s okay, that he’s clean and can’t catch human disease. 

Instead it’s the stretch of Ryan shoving into his body, wet from Shane’s mouth, and it’s just this side of too much, even for him. He grips Ryan’s arms, bruising hard, and the sound that is pushed out barely sounds human. He’s overwhelmed by his own need and by Ryan’s, caught in an endless feedback loop, and he can’t find the thread. 

Ryan’s mouth presses over his, and they aren’t kissing. They’re sharing noises over the sound of their bodies meeting, Ryan using all those muscles in a way that is bruising. Shane will limp in the morning; it’s perfect, delicious in a way that Shane can’t help himself. He wants harder, needs more, and he can’t find the words but Ryan seems to know, his fingers like a vice as he pulls Shane’s hips to meet his again and again. 

“I can’t—“ Ryan says, and it doesn’t matter. Shane has a hand around himself, still wet with lube from the small amount of prep he gave himself. He barely needs it, so gone on the feel of Ryan inside him and over him, Ryan’s lust flowing into him, and then when Ryan shoves in one last time, when he can feel Ryan coming inside him, he comes messy over his hand and stomach.

Ryan is all but collapsed on him, and Shane tucks his power away, eyes human again. He can feel the energy, can feel Ryan’s desire, still thrumming under his skin. It feels different than it does with non-humans, which probably makes sense, but it’s not bad. 

Instead of just moving off and cleaning up when Ryan slips free of his body, Shane cuddles close. He feels drowsy in a way that hardly makes sense, as flushed with power as he feels after such an excellent feeding. Still, he keeps touching Ryan, stroking his thumb over Ryan’s temple, the curve of his cheek. 

Of course, Ryan is the first one to speak, not bothering to pick up his head from where it lays against Shane’s shoulder. “That—Is it always like that?”

Shane opens his mouth to answer but, honestly, this is new ground. He’s fond of Ryan in a way that he isn’t of anonymous partners; Ryan is human unlike Sara or Matty. Instead he rubs circles beneath Ryan’s ear because he doesn’t want to stop touching.

“How do you feel, Ry?” That’s more important than how normal this is or isn’t. 

Ryan turns so his chin digs into Shane’s chest. “Is it weird that I think I feel even better?”

Shane shrugs. “You aren’t doing cartwheels in the room, so...”

“Fuck you,” Ryan snaps back, but he’s grinning. He leans up and kisses Shane again, sweet in a way that makes Shane feel off kilter. They did this because Ryan was curious, because Shane was starving, but when Ryan kisses him, he feels the undercurrent of something more. 

Ryan reaches up to try and straighten Shane’s hair, which they both know is a lost cause. He’ll basically have to shower to get it right again. “How are you feeling?” 

The question is soft, serious, and he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Under Ryan’s bluster and bro-tendencies, he’s a good man. That they’re hear speaks to that, because he’s pretty sure even someone as curious as Ryan could have waited until they got home to jump into bed with Shane if things hadn’t been a little dire. 

“Better.” He leans down and kisses Ryan’s forehead. “Less likely to fall asleep behind the wheel.”

“And that’s why I drive, dude.” Ryan finally pulls away and the connection between them fully shutters, hard enough that Shane feels almost lost without it. He sits up and surveys the bed, then Shane himself. His fingers brush over Shane’s hips, where he can already feel bruises forming. 

“Sorry.” Ryan flushes again, and it’s adorable, as if someone as kind as Ryan could do something that would permanently damage a sex demon. 

Shane makes a show of stretching, and he can feel marks that aren’t showing yet, bites and bruises that he’ll feel for days. He’s not ashamed; he tries to show Ryan in his face that he’s happy, that everything is fine. He likes the reminders, even likes how tender his scalp feels from Ryan yanking his hair. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Shane replies, and it’s impossible to sound anything less than fond. “Unless you plan on making me sleep on this bed and you get the clean one.”

Ryan snorts and slides off the bed and walks to the bathroom. He calls, “Nah. I’m man enough to say I like cuddling after sex.”

Shane blinks, because he doesn’t normally. He’s a demon; his partners are there for feeding, for fun, and cuddling isn’t on the menu. But Ryan is smiling at him, and he’s marked in his own way. 

“You’re a softie, Bergara,” Shane says, but he can cuddle, if that’s what Ryan wants. Hell, they’ve ended up plastered together in some of their colder location shoots before, and it strikes Shane as the height of rudeness to say sharing body warmth is on the table but not when they’ve had some truly top notch sex. 

Ryan brings out a warm washcloth, handing it to Shane. “I figure you probably want a shower, but i hate even walking when I’m all gross from sex.”

Shane takes the offering, because truly awesome sex turns pretty gross quickly, and he’s got come over his stomach and lube all over his thighs. “Yeah, this will be pretty disgusting in a minute.”

Ryan turns off the overhead light as Shane cleans up the best he can. The bedside lamp makes him look like he’s glowing as he pulls his pajama pants back on, grabbing his laptop and glasses and sitting on one side of the unused bed. He doesn’t get under the covers, as if he needs to wait for Shane to shower before he will officially turn in. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that except to get out of bed and grab his own sweats and threadbare tee. Today has been an ordeal, and if Ryan is going to wait for him, well, Shane doesn’t want to make him sit shirtless in the hotel room for too long. 

Shane is halfway to the bathroom - which is maybe five feet or three strides - when Ryan gasps, “Holy shit, are you limping?” His voice is tinged in a mix of pride and wonder, like he’s never actually done that to someone. 

He looks over his shoulder, and Ryan is staring, hungry like they literally hadn’t just fucked. It makes Shane smile. “I’ll steal your soul if you mention it again.”

Ryan’s eyes widen behind his glasses for a second but then he busts out into giggles. “Oh, fuck, you are!” He claps his hands together and looks so gleeful that Shane has to shake his head. 

“Steal your soul out of your _eyeballs_ , Bergara.” But they both know it’s an empty threat, and Ryan’s wheezing laughter follows him into the shower.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! My tumblr is [here](http://locketofyourhair.tumblr.com).


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